Fate
by ButterMeQueasy
Summary: Freddie a werewolf? Carly a vampire? Sam a mutant? Things have gotten incredibly strange for the iCarly gang as they take an unexpected trip to Forks, Washington, where a number of secrets have been unveiled about their parents. Slight X-Men reference.
1. Marissa Explains it All

**Disclaimer: **Of course I don't own anything, silly. Also, this takes place in-between Eclipse and Breaking Dawn, but before the newborn ambush. Hope that doesn't confuse anyone. (:

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Chapter One:

_**Freddie**_

"Fredward Benson, how could you forget to pack your rectal thermometer? You know how inaccurate the under-the-tongue method is!" My mother burst out, outraged. She was using her 'no-son-of-mine-will-get-an-infectious-disease' tone of voice, which irritated me to the core. It didn't help with Sam and Carly giggling in the backseat; this trip had gotten off to one hell of a bad start.

The four of us sat in my mother's recently acquired SUV, which she said was the safest vehicle in its class. We hadn't even made it an hour out of Seattle when she began ranting about how irresponsible I'd been while packing, forgetting this and that. I purposely slipped some Tylenol PM's into her nightly medication capsule—I prayed that would put her out for a few more hours than necessary once we got to this strange place called La Push.

"_Mother_," I said with heavy emphasis, gritting my teeth, "I haven't used one of those things since—well, last year." I had little confidence that this would affect her protests.

"Last year? Wow, Benson, you _are_ a nub!" Sam cawed, paging through an issue of 'Pork Rinds Weekly'. I snorted and Carly laughed.

"Shove it, Pucket." I growled, returning my attention to the road ahead of us.

"The thermometer?" she questioned with another hysterical laugh. Carly followed suit; I felt my face reddening. Perhaps I should have given those two the sleeping pills instead.

It wasn't entirely my idea that my two best friends—well, best friend and co-worker—accompany me on this trip to an Indian reservation near Forks, Washington, but Carly insisted that our web show needed a little change in scenery. I agreed, figuring it would be better than spending the trip with just my mom. Guess I was wrong—Sam was only making it worse, and if Carly was sitting in the backseat the whole time, how was I supposed to execute my brilliant pick-up lines? All that practice for nothing. . .

"So, Freddie, why exactly are we going to this _La Poosh?_" Carly asked, adding a witty French accent to the name.

"Your guess is as good as mine," I answered honestly. I turned to look at my mother. "Mom, are you gonna tell me why we're making this trip such a necessity before I turn 16?"

My birthday was less than a month away, and before it was official, my mother had insisted that she take me to the La Push reservation before it was "too late". I wasn't sure what she meant by this, but then again, I didn't think I wanted to; my mom was a very odd individual, and knowing her, we were probably catching a sale on some sort of Indian, ultra-healing herb. I chuckled at the thought.

"We'll talk later, Freddie. Please don't distract me while I'm driving—that's very dangerous, you know." My mom was nervous as she said this, and I watched her facial features arrange themselves into an unreadable expression. I wondered what she was keeping from me; she never acted like this.

"Okay," I said politely, avoiding the questions that were now prominent in my head.

The duration of the trip was spent sleeping, eating, or enduring Sam's insults, which made it a relatively quick couple of hours. It was dark when my mother pulled the SUV into a quaint hotel in the small city of Forks, Washington, which was less than fifteen minutes away from La Push.

"Gee, Benson, your mother drives slower than my grandma—and she's a paraplegic." Sam ranted, half-asleep, pulling herself out of the car. She and Carly gathered their things from the back and lulled themselves into the hotel lobby.

"Stay here Freddie—and don't believe anything that anyone tells you!" my mom instructed with a hint of hysteria as she went to the front desk to purchase the rooms.

"Freddie, why is your mom acting so—well, I don't know—_frenzied_?" Carly asked, leaning on Sam's shoulder. "I mean, it's nice that she brought us and all, but does she really have to act so crazy?"

"Sorry, guys," I apologized, only meaning it sincerely to Carly, "I'm not really sure why she's being so peculiar."

"Peculiar?" Sam repeated mockingly. "Oye, Frederic—looks like your mom is becoming contagious."

I rolled me eyes. It was already late and I didn't feel like adding fuel to Sam's never-ending fire. I was thankful when my mother handed Carly the key to their room and we headed to our own. Though the rooms had an interconnecting door, I was relieved to at least have a few feet away from Sam. She got overwhelming after awhile.

My mom was still acting frantic as she unpacked. She disregarded to alphabetize my medication in the cabinets, and didn't even force me to organize my underwear by day of the week. That's when I knew something must really be bothering her, so I planted myself on the bed and gave her a stern look.

"Mom, tell me what's going on." I demanded in a not-so-Freddie sort of voice. Sam Pucket would have been proud.

My mom sighed in defeat. "Freddie—I've been keeping something from you." She stood up now and began pacing the room, as if debating to herself whether or not she wanted to reveal her secret.

"So tell me," I pressed, wondering exactly where all this confidence came from.

"It's about your father," she said at last, sighing once again. She looked at me with difficulty.

"What about him?" I gulped. Mom didn't talk much about my dad—whoever he was—because she felt it was an overly sensitive subject. As far as I knew, he left my mom as soon as he knew she was pregnant.

"Well, I've never told you about him because . . . well, because I'm ashamed." She began chewing on her fingernails, and that's when I knew this was serious. My mom detested fingernail chewing. "The truth is that he passed away when you were born."

I felt an awful feeling in my stomach. "Why are you ashamed of that?"

"The man you've seen pictures of—that's Fredward Worthington. He left me after you were born because I confessed to him that he wasn't your father . . ." she trailed off, her tone becoming distant. She looked into the mirror as she continued, "I was young when you were conceived, Freddie. I was young and stupid and drunk. Fredward was off on a business trip, and I hadn't become the housewife that he wanted me to be just yet. A couple of my friends convinced me to come cliff-diving on the La Push reservation because it is home to some of the highest peaks in the state, and I agreed. I still had a little life in me then.

"There were some Quileute boys that joined us—they said we were pretty pale-faces. I wasn't sure what that actually meant until I met your father. The way he looked at me, Freddie . . . was unimaginable. I had never believed in love at first sight until then." She was still looking in the mirror with dream-like eyes; I guessed she was trying to imagine herself sixteen years younger, jumping off tall cliffs with her friends. I, myself, couldn't picture it.

"Maybe the alcohol had something to do with it, but I couldn't resist the way your father concentrated on me. It was like he couldn't look away—like he was magnetically drawn to me. He said the sweetest things to me, charmed me. I couldn't restrain myself much longer, and I was impregnated with you that very night." She smiled after saying this, returning to a happy time.

I shuddered at the thought.

"But he was different, Freddie. And I don't mean it in a good way, necessarily." She now looked at me with an unquestionable face. "You see, the Quileute's have all of these absurd legends and folklore—your father and his friends told us some of these stories around a campfire the night we met. They told us about wolves and spirits and a bunch of other pish-posh and it was all very entertaining. But the day me and my friends packed up to leave, your father stopped me and begged me to stay.

"He said that he had _imprinted _on me, which was one of the Quileute legends about finding one's soulmate. He also said something else . . . something that I would never, ever have believed if he hadn't shown me himself."

My mother's voice now peaked in fear. The feeling in my stomach got worse.

"What was it, mom?" I asked, unsure if I really wanted to know.

"He said—" she paused, looking at me with her big eyes, boring her gaze into me so ferociously that I was almost afraid. "He said he was a werewolf." She breathed at last.

I burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. I was sure that Carly and Sam (and anyone within a five-mile radius, for that matter) could hear my countless guffaws.

"Fredward Benson!" my mother interrupted, waving a finger a t me. "This is no laughing matter!"

"Sure, mom—" I said between a laugh. Then I felt her shaking me until I would look at her with a straightened gaze. Her eyes were as serious as I'd ever seen them—just like the time she was convinced that I had stolen a cookie from the forbidden jar when I was six. I knew she meant business, but this was such an outrageous discussion to be having.

"Freddie, he _showed _me what he meant by this," my mom continued, as if I hadn't interjected. "One minute he was a tall, dark, and handsome man—and the next he was a tall, dark, and malicious wolf! I was so terrified that I ran, but naturally, he caught up to me."

"What happened next?" I asked, trying to keep a straight face.

"He changed back into a man. He explained all the details more thoroughly—that he was a protector of the forest and that I was the object of his infinite affection. He explained that if I left him now, he would surely die. Once they imprint on someone, and that someone rejects them, they can't go on . . . the pain is too substantial.

"But I left him, Freddie! I chose not to believe in any of his strange legends, I pretended that I didn't see a man transform into a massive wolf! I've tried to raise you the best way I can, Freddie—I've kept you away from the flu and the measles and the mumps and everything that I've ever thought that could trigger a mutation." she explained worriedly, wrapping her arms around me in a warm hug. I could tell that she was really bothered by this, but I still wasn't buying any of it. "But I fear the same fate for you, Freddie! That's why we're here—your father said he first transformed when he was 16, which means that it could happen any day now."

"Mom, I'm going to sleep." I said dully, suddenly uninterested in her story. I had played along long enough, but the ride over here was seriously beginning to wear on me. A bed sounded nice. An aspirin, too—my head had suddenly started throbbing. Thanks, mom.

"I know it all sounds unusual, Freddie, but we'll go down to La Push and speak to the elders of the village. I will _not _have a werewolf for a son." she said defiantly, a ring of finality in her voice. I couldn't believe that she was still going on about this. Then her tone became much lighter as she turned to hug me again. "I'm so sorry about all of this, Freddie. I'm sorry I kept the history of your real father from you, too. I know it might not make sense that you're half Quileute—you had a strange sickness as a baby, and it altered your skin pigmentation, which is why you're so light-skinned—but I need you to believe me. I wouldn't lie to you, would I?"

I didn't know how to answer that question. This was all making my head spin. I understood that I shouldn't believe a word my mother was saying, but the information overload suddenly made me want to toss up my Mighty Kids Meal from earlier this evening. Without another word, I rushed to the toilet and barfed up everything I had. A swell of heat engulfed me, and I felt awful aches all throughout my body.

Once again, thanks mom.

*-*-*-*


	2. Maybe, Just Maybe

**Disclaimer: **Sadly, I will never own either series.

Thanks so much to those of you that reviewed.

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Chapter Two:

_**Carly **_

"Oh man, Carls, can you believe it?" Sam cried out. I reached over to muffle her laughter with my sleeve. "Freddie's mom is off her rocker! She got frisky with some Indian and now she thinks Freddie's gonna turn into a wolf. You can't see this stuff on TV."

"Sam, hush," I said thoughtlessly, getting up from my kneeling position at the door. I flung myself onto the bed and sighed. I felt a little guilty for listening in on Freddie and his mom's conversation, but I had to admit that it provided for a good laugh. "Ms. Benson is a little crazier than I thought. Think I should call Spencer and have him pick us up?"

"Nah, dude!" Sam replied, sitting on the bed opposite mine. "This is too good. Maybe we should record her and feature her on iCarly. It could be an entire new bit, and we'd call it something like 'Monstrous Mothers'. Pretty good idea, eh?"

"No, Sam, mutilating Freddie's mom on the Internet does not sound like a good idea to me." I answered flatly.

"Oh, you make it sound like it's a bad thing," Sam said with a laugh. She reached into her bag and pulled out a piece of fried chicken and began to gnaw on it aggressively. Despite how well I knew Sam, I realized that I would never fully understand her.

"So, there's a reason I wanted to come to Forks," I said quietly, trying to remain inconspicuous. I would need Sam's help if I wanted to find the person that I was looking for.

"Oh yeah?" Sam perked up instantly.

"Yeah," I answered meekly. "It's kind of a dumb idea, but if I don't do it, then I'll regret not grasping the opportunity."

"So what it is?" Sam persisted.

"Well, you know my mom, right? Natalie?" I opened a bottle of water and took a sip. It was difficult talking about my mom.

"Yeah, 'course. Never met her." Sam said bluntly.

"Well, her maiden name—before she left my dad, at least—was Brandon. Natalie Brandon." I lay my head back on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. "She met my dad, they fell in love, had Spencer, then me. But after I was born, she got a little—oh, I don't know—bored? She gave up. She didn't want to raise me anymore."

"Sounds like my mom," Sam chuckled. I rolled my eyes.

"She left and I don't know where she is. But I have a feeling that someone here in Forks does." I announced nervously. "You see, my grandmother's sister—my great-aunt Mary—was sent away to live in an insane asylum when she was our age."

"Yeah, so?"

"I think she's still alive."

"What? Carls, she's probably like a thousand years old. There's no way she's alive." Sam was such a pessimist.

"It's a possibility," I said calmly, unable to believe it myself. "Maybe not a very big possibility, but a possibility nonetheless."

"Okay, so if your aunt is alive, then what?" Sam pressed impatiently.

"Then she'll know where to find my mom." I explained coolly. "They locked her up in the loony bin because she could see the future. Maybe she can see something about my mom, y'know?"

"Wow, kid—you're sounding just as loony." Sam tucked herself into the bed and turned her back. "But, you're my best friend, so tomorrow morning we'll start fresh and early at the nearest nursing home. Sound good?"

"No, Sam," I replied softly, unable to explain myself. I knew I sounded crazy. Extremely crazy. "My aunt Mary isn't old. I think she's still young . . . I don't think she's aged."

"Okay, Carly, go to sleep." Sam scoffed. "You don't know what you're saying anymore."

"I'm serious, Sam!" I cried out, sitting up in the bed. "I have a picture of her—see?" I flung the outdated snapshot that I kept in my purse onto Sam's bed. It showed a picture of a very petite woman with short black hair. A mug shot.

"Hey, that's the girl that stole Spencer's motorcycle, huh?" Sam said, surprised. "I remember her—I could have learned a thing or two from that little lady."

"Yeah, well, look at this," I said, revealing another picture from my purse. This one was even more outdated than the first—over fifty years old, I guessed. It was in black and white and haggard from all it had endured throughout its existence. I flashed the picture over to Sam and she examined it carefully.

"Woah—they look exactly alike!"

"I know," I said with a smile. "The second one—the older one—is my great-aunt Mary. The first one I showed you is of a girl named Alice Cullen. I'm not sure what the police did with her after they got the bike back, but when I Google'd the name, all that came up was the address to a Cullen residence here in Forks. Crazy, right?"

"Very crazy—and kind of scary, too." Sam said nervously.

"Well, you wanna know something even scarier?" I pressed.

Sam looked up at me, and then back to the two pictures. She nodded. "Sure."

"My aunt's name was Mary Alice Brandon. Weird, huh?"

"The weirdest," Sam said almost mutely. "So we're going to see these Cullen people tomorrow then, yeah?"

"Yeah," I said more confidently now. "I know it's the same person—it _has _to be. I don't have any cousins or anything like that from my mom's side."

"But how does something like that even happen? Y'know, if it _is _the same person, then how did she do it? How come she hasn't aged?" Sam asked in a flutter.

I didn't answer. I didn't know.

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	3. Poker Face

**A/N: **Thanks so much for all of your fantastic reviews. You guys are the best.

Also, this is the part where the X-Men reference comes into play. If you are unfamiliar with the series, Wikipedia is an excellent source to find out more about it.

Basically, a mutant is a person with superpowers—hope that doesn't give too much away about the following chapter (I just couldn't let Freddie and Carly have _all _the fun, now, could I?).

Thanks again. Enjoy.

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Chapter Three:

_**Sam**_

"Fredward! Ms. Beson?"

I banged my fist a couple more times on the door. Nothing.

"They still aren't answering?" Carly called from inside our room.

"Nope!" I said excitedly. "Maybe they died."

I smiled.

"Samantha Pucket!" Carly scolded. She emerged from the room fully dressed and ready to go. She also had on one of those 'behave yourself' faces. I sighed.

"I was just kidding," I lied. "He hasn't replied to any of your text messages?"

"No—I'm starting to get a little worried. Freddie always replies to my text messages. Always!" She sounded kind of hysterical. It was amusing.

"Look, Carly, I'm sure Ms. Benson was just a little excited about introducing Freddie to his wolf cousins," I tried saying it with a straight face. Didn't work.

"Sam, this is serious. I don't know anything about this stupid place," Carly said with a frown. "And it's so unlike Ms. Benson to leave anyone unsupervised."

"Not to worry, kiddo—mama's got an A-class sniffer," I said proudly, tapping my finger to my nose. "Everything will be fine so long as I can smell. And what I smell now is a buffet full of pancakes. C'mon!"

*-*-*-*

Breakfast was great, which made the rest of the day a whole hell of a lot easier. Carly dragged me all across this wretched town called Forks, trying to find this Mary Alice Brandon character before we actually went to the house. Carly kept saying she didn't want to be intrusive and just show up out of nowhere, but I was ready to knock down the door.

I swear we'd circled Forks about three times total before she gave up and sat on a street curb in the downtown area.

"I don't know what to do!" she yelped helplessly. I offered her a stick of bacon. "No thanks. I'm not in the mood for grease-infested meat."

"Hey," I replied, offended.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm just starting to think that we're in a little over our heads." she looked up at the cloudy sky, moping. "I wish this situation was more realistic; I'm starting to feel stupid for even coming on this trip."

"Nonsense, Carls—we'll find your aunt or die trying. But we're not gonna find her just sitting around and complaining. Let's go." I was usually a lazy person. Okay, I was much lazier than anyone else I knew, but seeing Carly all sad and stuff just wasn't fun. I pulled her arm and we started walking back toward the main part of the city. That's when I noticed a sign.

It was a brightly lit neon sign, the sleazy kind that you find in Vegas. In fact, I might have seen one exactly like it when I was younger, maybe—back when my mom liked to gamble. She doesn't gamble much nowadays because we don't have many nice things. Anyway, the sign was bright and appealing and fun—and it depicted a hand holding three cards. Three Ace's at that.

"Let's go in here," I suggested to Carly, and pulled her inside.

It was a magic shop. Dirty, crowded, and full of secondhand smoke—just the way I liked it. There were a bunch of knick knacks and other things that I thought my mom might like for Christmas. In the very back was a man in a top hat with a cigar in his mouth. He lifted his head to greet us.

"Welcome, chillun'," he said with a heavy accent. He wasn't an old man, just older than both me and Carly—maybe in his late twenties or so. His hair was shaggy and brown and he had some stubble encircling his face. I swore I recognized him from somewhere—maybe a movie or something. I didn't know.

"How much for this?" I asked, picking up a package of clear marbles. They'd be perfect for throwing at glass. The strange guy looked over at me and smiled.

"Fuh you? Free," he said with a wink. I wasn't sure whether to be creeped out or amused. Going with the second notion, I stepped forward.

"Sam, what are you doing?" Carly whispered frantically, grabbing my arm.

"Nice cane you got there," I continued talking to him, despite Carly's hold on my shirt. I gestured to the detailed rod that was leaned up against the wall next to him. It seemed familiar, too. "Where'd ya get it?"

"'Twas a gift," he said aloofly, like breathing.

I didn't believe him. "You sure about that?"

"O'course—think I'm lyin'?" he questioned with a grin. I noticed for the first time the stack of cards that he shuffled in his hands. They moved fluently, left to right, up and down. It was a little too professional for my taste, and I winced. Where had I seen this guy before?

Then it hit me.

Those stupid, idiotic cards—the same ones that had caused the fire that night.

And that cane! It wasn't his—it was my grandpa's. He'd carved it a few months before he had died.

But it was this guy's menacing grin—I instantly knew where I had seen it before. In the mirror. Everyday since I could remember.

It was mine.

"_You're my dad!_"

Carly paused to stare at me and the guy behind the counter stopped shuffling the cards. That's all I really remembered before I lunged forward and began to pound the guy's face in. I never would have known I stopped if that giant 8-Ball hadn't exploded in my hand. I knew it was one of his sick little magic tricks—the same kind he'd shown me when I was young.

I briefly saw Carly fly back and hit a wall before I returned my attention to Gambit the Great, the man who had scarred my life forever.

There was another explosion, and after that, I couldn't remember a thing.

The next thing I saw was an angel, and I wondered how the hell I ended up here.

*-*-*-*


End file.
